Iceland review - 2016, Page 88

86 ICELAND REVIEW
My cousin appears at the door
and takes a look at the blood,
liver, fat and sheep stomachs.
There’s a distinct smell in the air. “Just
give me a minute,” she says and disap-
pears for a while. Then she sits down
next to me and starts sewing the stom-
achs. It’s sláturtíð (‘slaughter season’),
and my extended family has gathered in
my dad’s freshly-tiled garage in Garður,
Southwest Iceland, to revive my late
grandmother’s tradition of making slátur,
Eygló Svala Arnarsdóttir participates in the age-old tradition of
making liver sausage and blood pudding with her family.
liver sausage and blood pudding from
the innards of lambs. “I never could go
anywhere near it. I thought it was dis-
gusting. The kitchen floor was complete-
ly covered in blood and gore. It looked
like a battlefield,” my cousin admits. In
her early forties, Halla is the oldest of
the 20 grandchildren. “But did you eat
it?” I ask. “Oh, yes. I love it!” I have
fond memories of slátur-making with the
family. However, after our grandmother
ceased taking the initiative, the interest
SLAUGHTER SEASON
dropped and at some point in the 1990s,
we stopped.
FAMILY AFFAIR
Slátur (literally ‘slaughter’) is the term
used for both blóðmör (‘blood pud-
ding’) and lifrarpylsa (‘liver sausage’—
somewhat similar to haggis). Food
historian and cookbook author Nanna
Rögnvaldardóttir explains that while
early Icelanders likely made use of the
PHOTOS BY PÁLL STEFÁNSSON AND LEIFUR RÖGNVALDSSON.